Guilt
by Eternity-is-Chaos
Summary: Why do I always give in, you ask?  Well, it's understandable, honestly. Guilt.


A/N Here's a one-shot, enjoy.

Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter, nor any of his fellow characters, belong to me. I know, shocking, isn't it?

* * *

><p>Guilt<p>

Hermione stared at the broccoli on her fork. Such an unseemly food; it was green, and shaped like a tree. It had no taste, and contributed nothing to the meal. Half the time, people failed to prepare it properly, and she ended up grinding her teeth on sand – once, the defining moment in her experience, an insect had crawled out of the vegetable while she was chewing. But despite all of this, Hermione ate broccoli _every Saturday_ with supper at the Burrow.

"Hermione, dear, is something wrong with the broccoli?" Mrs. Weasley asked anxiously.

Hermione beat down her disgust and forced a smile on her face. It even appeared to reach her eyes. "No, Mrs. Weasley, I'm sure it's fine. Please, excuse me. Washroom."

Hermione walked quickly out of the room, feeling guilty for the unhappy expression on her practically adopted mother's face.

Guilt.

Something Hermione had learned, literally, at her mother's knee.

It was understandable, really. She had been an only child, her parent's miracle child, a healthy baby who had followed three miscarriages and one stillborn. Robert and Catherine Granger had only wanted a normal, happy daughter. But they realized that she was _different_ when she summoned a book from her father's library. Their dreams of Hermione's future started to appear out of reach when she turned her room green, and eventually they snapped when Hermione's magic started to affect them. The final straw was one night, when Catherine was unable to leave the house because the doors and windows were sealed after she had sent Hermione to her room without dinner.

So, the family sat down, and explained how much disappointment and stress she had caused her parents by showing this 'gift' so blatantly; how her parents were less efficient at work, distracted – her father had almost made a mistake during a surgery the week before, and when had that ever happened before these 'incidents' began? – how Hermione was being selfish by disregarding rules and expectations set by her parents in an effort to make her grow up to be a good person. What had her parents done that Hermione felt the need to punish them? Why wasn't she like other children, who obeyed their parents?

That was the last magic Hermione performed until Hogwarts, though by no means the last lecture.

Every time Papa Granger visited, he would insist on certain dishes – and why did Hermione insist on ruining the visit by whining about the broccoli? Did she think she was too good to eat the same food as the rest of the family?

At school, Hermione became liable to cave into any sort of pressure put on by her classmates, in an effort to please someone and make a friend. To her child's mind, it had made sense: giving in made her parents happy, why not her classmates? Yet, no matter how many homework assignments she did, or tests she nearly failed, or schemes she got herself roped into as the scapegoat, Hermione never got party invitations, never made any friends. Girls never whispered secrets to her and boys didn't know she existed.

Even now, she couldn't decline the weekly invite to the Burrow, any more than she could refuse a serving food. How she wished she was somewhere else, without friends who could guilt her into something without a thought about it. Hadn't she told Ginny the week before that she hated this? No, she couldn't think that, Ginny was planning a wedding, she had no time to think about the unimportant details of someone else's life.

Hermione sighed deeply, and steeled herself for another - she checked her watch – hour and forty minutes of dinner, then she could escape back to Grimmauld Place and go to bed. Heading back to the table, she fixed a smile on her face, and sat down.

The broccoli, still there, stared at her from the plate.

"Try the vegetables, Hermione, Mum and I steamed them tonight," Ginny commented cheerfully, "they're really good!"

Ginny had made them too – to refuse them might drive a rift between them.

"I have some, thanks."

There was a lull in the conversation, and it seemed that everyone was either eating or staring at her. Hermione, feeling the guilt creep in at the look on Ginny's face, picked up her fork, feeling the disgusting weight from the limp, tasteless green lump at the end of it.

She hesitated, and Ginny's eyebrows went up.

It was as tasteless as always, and cold, now that she had left it on her plate for so long. Hermione forced it down, trying not to gag.

"It's delicious." Hermione smiled.

Ginny looked pleased and turned back to her food.

Now, girls told her secrets and boys noticed her. She was invited to parties, and had too many friends to count. It was just a shame that people still didn't see past what she could give them; if they did, she wouldn't be smiling this empty smile.

If they did, well, Hermione laughed bitterly to herself, if they did, the guilt might actually be worth it.


End file.
